


Learning to Care

by Hippety



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:04:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hippety/pseuds/Hippety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things can go wonderfully right and horribly wrong. Mycroft and Greg get to experience both, starting with the first time they meet each other. Rated M for outcomes in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Problem Presents Itself

**Chapter 1 - A Problem Presents Itself**

‘Detective Inspector Lestrade, there’s a gentleman here to see you.’

Greg let out a sigh as he pressed down the button on the intercom.

‘Tell him to wait; I’ll see him in a few minutes.’

Sherlock smiled smugly as he took a step closer to the detective inspector’s writing desk, putting his hands down on the edge of it as the other man sat down in his chair on the opposite side.

‘Oh, why do you look like it’s Christmas then?’ Greg asked hurriedly, already annoyed by what Sherlock a few moments earlier had proposed. ‘We’re discussing the murders of twelve innocent people, and you’re just smiling at it.’

‘That’s not why I’m smiling, detective inspector. It’s the fact that my brother is making his way up to this very office that amuses me.’

‘How d’you know that?’

‘Because usually, when Mrs Norton tells you that someone’s here to meet you, she says that there’s a “man” here to see you, not a “gentleman”. To be honest, Mrs Norton is a quite prudish woman; my dear brother is one of the few people that she would actually call a gentleman, and practically the only one of them who actually ever would have a reason visit your office.’ Sherlock made a short pause, enjoying the full attention he was getting from Greg. ‘Besides, I know he’s looking for me anyway, it was only a matter of time before he would get his arse out of his office to come and find me himself. You can’t imagine how bored I get by all those underlings he sends to make me come to _his_ office.’

The detective inspector shook his head, and decided that whether or not Sherlock was telling the truth, they had more important matters to take care of. Sherlock’s older brother would have to wait, Holmes or not.

He turned his attention to the map on the desk in front of him. It was depicting King’s Cross Station in every last detail, and all over it was small crosses written in blue ink with accompanying notes next to them.

‘I cannot possibly let you place a fake bomb in King’s Cross, not under any circumstances,. Not even to catch this killer, Sherlock.’ The consulting detective gave him a disapproving look. ‘There’s no chance I could convince the superintendent. Besides, it’s far too dangerous.’

‘People have died, Lestrade.’

‘And since when have you started to care about that?’ sputtered the detective inspector in response. Greg was really far too tired to be on duty in the first place, and having the consulting detective who seemed to try his best to make Greg lose his job didn’t make it better. They had been chasing a psychopath for over two weeks now, and now finally Sherlock had found a way to catch him. Unfortunately it was a very, in fact _extremely_ , dangerous plan, and Greg couldn’t not in anyway let him proceed with it.

‘We can’t do that; you’ll have to come up with another plan.’ Greg dropped the pen he had been holding onto his desk and then he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, as the other man started to frown angrily. Sherlock had just opened his mouth in order to protest when the closed door to Greg’s office opened, and a man stepped into the room.

It was a fairly tall middle-aged man, dressed in an _exquisite_ three piece suit, Greg noted to himself. He had well combed brown hair and a determined look upon his face. To Greg he looked like a very posh, successful official of some kind, or possibly a business man.  The only thing that the detective inspector was entirely sure about was that this was _not_ how he had imagined Sherlock’s older brother. Neither had he been prepared for how attractive he actually was. Greg blinked surprisingly a few times and then stood up to greet the man in the doorway. 

‘Mycroft Holmes. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, detective inspector. I am here about my brother. I shall not bother you more than necessary.’ Mycroft shifted the umbrella in his right hand over to the left one, and then extended his hand towards Greg, who shook it awkwardly.

‘DI Lestrade. I did tell you to wait outside until I was done.’

‘Yes, but as I said, this should not take too long.’ The tall man smiled degradingly at Greg, who now felt very patronized. Sherlock, who had been standing by the desk, with his prim facial expression, now started to look annoyed as his brother turned towards him.

‘Brother dear, how wonderful to see you.’

‘Stop that, Sherlock, you know why I’m here. What on Earth made you think that I would not notice that you’ve stolen two of my identity cards? Do you realise how dangerous it is to use them in order to break into NASA’s most top secret base?’ The older Holmes brother’s voice was calm and methodical, but still so threatening that it made Greg shift uncomfortably. ‘I am taking a huge risk letting you out in public in the first place, Sherlock, and if I can’t trust you, then I am afraid that I will have to-’

‘I get the point, Mycroft.’ The consulting detective shrugged ignorantly, as he took up Greg’s empty coffee mug from the desk and started to inspect it closely. ‘Don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of pet you can keep on a leash. Stop worrying about me, and start worrying about the fact that that favourite bakery of yours, the one near Fleet Street, is closing down in the end of the month. I imagine that it will get a bit more difficult for you from now on to get hold on those favourite doughnuts of yours, the ones with pink sprinkles on them.’

Sherlock put Greg’s mug back on the desk as the older Holmes brother took a few steps towards his brother so he was standing just a few inches from his face.

‘If you don’t learn to behave, Sherlock, I promise that I will make sure that Scotland Yard won’t give you any new cases for a _very_ long time. And what would you do then, without cases, without your _distractions_ , brother dear?’

Sherlock didn’t answer; he just stared at his brother with accusatory eyes.

‘Wait, hold on a second.’ Greg was now starting to get annoyed by the family feud taking place in his office, especially since they’re was a serial killer on the loose that they needed to catch. ‘How can _you_ ,’ he pointed towards Mycroft, ‘decide whether or not _I_ will give him any more cases?’

‘You will find that I can be quite persuasive when I want to, detective inspector.’ He gave Greg a strained smile, but somehow his words still made the detective inspector’s stomach rebel against him.

‘Oh, really now, can you? What makes you believe that?’

The older Holmes brother snorted as he looked down on Greg.

‘You see, detective inspector,’ Mycroft kept on giving Greg that false smile ‘your superiors’ superiors’ happen to have superi-’

‘We get the point, Mycroft.’ Sherlock was just as frustrated by his brother as Greg was, but suddenly he plucked up his phone from his pocket and started to smile when he had read the newly arrived text. ‘I’m afraid I got to dash, John’s finally found those hidden engine parts in the graveyard.’

Mycroft didn’t care about protesting, and just let out a long sigh as his younger brother disappeared out of the office.

‘I truly am sorry about all this, detective inspector, but as you understand I only want the best for my brother.’

‘Of course, of course’ mumbled Lestrade as he stood footed next to the older Holmes brother, surprised by his now much more relaxed tone. Greg decided to take a wild chance, even though the man in front of him was a bit of a bastard. His good looks almost made up for that. ‘Can I offer you some coffee?’

‘Yes, why not?’ The younger man now gave Greg a genuine smile. ‘I have already cancelled my meeting with the Foreign Secretary; I just might as well have some. Black, four sugars, please.’

 _Oh, dear, the man wasn’t kidding then,_ Greg thought as he was just about to pick up his coffee mug from the desk, but then he remembered that Sherlock could have done something to it a few moments before. Instead he smiled apologetically at the other man and went out in corridor to go and get said coffee.

On his way to the coffee machine he felt how his heartbeat quickened. This was all because of the obviously well-off, very handsome man who was now waiting in his office.

 _This is_ absolutely _not_ _good,_ Greg tried to tell himself as took out two mugs from the kitchen cupboard. _Don’t go and get all head over heels for a man you met only five minutes ago._

A few moments later when he went back to his office he found the older Holmes brother sitting in a chair with his back against the door. Greg couldn’t help but to notice the other man’s beautiful frame, slender shoulder clad in what obviously was very expensive dark blue fabric, along with his umbrella leaning against the chair he sat in.

‘Here you go!’ The detective inspector placed Mycroft’s cup of coffee in front of him with a smile. ‘Black, four sugars.’

Mycroft looked up at him and smirked, almost wistfully, and to Greg’s amusement showed some more of his beautiful neck as he did so.

‘So what’s it you’re doing then? I imagine that you can’t be any ordinary politician if you have such powerful and dominant superiors…’ Greg asked it jokingly as he sat down in his chair opposite to Mycroft, but he was also genuinely interested. And, to be honest, it was nice to watch the other man’s lips move when he spoke.

‘I am not really much more than an influential government official.’ Mycroft smiled once again, but this time it was a bit of a mixture of his genuine and false one, as if he was meaning to be kind but just couldn’t bring himself to it. ‘And I just happen to be interested in my brother’s well-being’ he added quickly, looking like he just remembered that it was the actual reason to why he was being in Lestrade’s office in the first place.

‘If you’re so interested in your brother’s well-being, how come we haven’t met before? After all, I’ve been quite an important person to Sherlock during the past few years.’

_Oh, what exactly do you think you’re doing, Greg? You might as well have asked him out on a date…_

‘Yes, you do have a point there, but the fact is that Sherlock has been…’ Mycroft stopped to look for the right word. ‘…a bit more troublesome lately.’ The government official sipped at his coffee.

_How can he take so much sugar in his coffee and still enjoy it? I bet his lips taste really nice though, sweet, but with a dominant touch of- For Christ sake, pull yourself together!_

Somehow Greg managed to not show what was actually going on in his mind; he just nodded and took a sip of his coffee as well.

‘Yes, I suppose the Dr Watson has had both good and bad influence on Sherlock.’

_Stop talking about Sherlock like he’s twelve. Well, he kind of is- but that’s not the point. You should be happy that he hasn’t left the office already; you’re insulting his brother for God’s sake…_

To the detective inspector’s relief Mycroft didn’t stand up and leave the room in protest, he only leaned back in his chair, fixing his despondent gaze on the picture of the seaside that hung on the wall just behind Greg.

‘Helpful as he has been to my brother, you were the one who was there for him when it mattered the most.’

Greg felt how his cheeks turned slightly red. What the government official had said was true, and hearing someone say it out loud was enjoyable, especially since Sherlock never had thanked Greg properly for his support. But the joy of hearing a _Holmes_ complimenting anyone else but Dr Watson was almost unbeatable. And when he came to think about it, it was something that he wanted to get used to.

Suddenly Sgt. Donovan abruptly opened the door to his office, obviously worked up about something. But before Greg had even got a chance to ask her what was going on she said:

‘He’s done it. We believe there might be a bomb in King’s Cross Station.’

Greg shook his head as he mumbled something about that he would be on his way. Before Sgt. Donovan disappeared back out in the corridor she gave the older Holmes brother a long gaze, and Greg could see that there was a mix of aversion and admiration in it.

‘Bomb threats aren’t really your division, are they, detective inspector?’ The government official smirked once again as he stood up. ‘Thank you for the coffee, I might add.’

‘No worries, no worries’ mumbled Greg as he put on his dark grey coat, his brain starting to fill up with possible outcomes for Sherlock foolhardy action. ‘Don’t hold me responsible if I decide to skin your brother after all this is done.’

The politician let out a small laugh, almost undetectable, at least if you weren’t looking for it. Greg decided to take another chance.

‘Will I meet you again, Mr Holmes?’

_You really are getting desperate, aren’t you?_

Thankfully, or rather unfortunately if Greg was being honest to himself, the government official didn’t get the hint; he just extended his hand again towards him.

‘Judging by Sherlock’s behaviour, I would say yes, we will.’ The elder Holmes once again smiled that sad smile he seemed to have reserved for the mention of his brother. ‘It has been a pleasure to meet you.’

_Isn’t there some leering in that look he’s giving me right now? Or am I just imagining it?_

Greg shook the younger man’s hand as calm and untouched as possible, but he couldn't help but to give him a hint of his brightest smile anyway.

‘Pleasure to meet you as well. Sorry, got to go. I hope you don’t mind showing yourself out. Besides, I bet you know your way around here anyway…’

The government official nodded, as Greg practically ran out of the office in order to get to the car that was going to take him to the scene of Sherlock’s madness. What the detective inspector didn’t notice was the smile on the elder Holmes brother’s face as he took up his umbrella which had been leaning towards his chair. The smile didn’t disappear when the politician walked out of the office and headed back to his work.  


	2. Smugness, Sweat and Crumbs

**Chapter 2 – Smugness, Sweat and Crumbs**

Greg was humming cheerfully on a tune he couldn’t quite remember the name of as he was doing the washing-up. It was quite unusual for him to do it at this time of day, since he almost always got some kind of takeaway food for dinner. But today he had felt happy and motivated enough to actually cook some food himself. Not that it had been any special, just making hamburgers and some accompanying salad, but it had resulted in a frying pan, some  knives and cutting boards more than usually that needed washing.

The reason for his celebration (for this was actually a celebration of some kind, he had tried to persuade himself to believe) was that they, i.e. CSI Baker Street and officers from Scotland Yard, had finally caught the serial killer, actually even before it had been time for afternoon tea. Sherlock _had_ faked a bomb inside King’s Cross, which had caused much fuss, and of course there was still paperwork to fill out before the cased was closed, but Greg tried his best not to think about these things as he put one of the cutting boards on the dish rack. Besides, he wouldn’t have to deal with any of that until Monday.

By now he had finished humming on the song of unknown identity, and decided that it would be nice to turn on the stereo before he finished the rest of the washing-up. The policeman took a few steps back from the sink and stepped into the part of the room that was used as a living room and study. It wasn’t a very big room, just enough for a kitchen with a table set, and a sofa and TV in the designated living room area. It seemed larger than it actually was though, thanks to the large windows on the walls to the right of the sofa. The view from the room was more than pleasant, his flat was situated just a stone’s throw from Waterloo Bridge, and on decent days like this one, the view over the Thames was magnificent. The late spring sun’s beams were glittering in the grey water, matching the light from the cheap ceiling lights reflecting that were reflected happily in Greg’s eyes.

The apartment was in fact far out of Greg’s price range, but he had inherited it six years earlier from his favourite, and quite needless to say very wealthy, uncle. He treasured the location very much; it was almost within walking distance to his work (at least the days when he had enough time to not take the tube) and was more central than he actually needed.

Greg pressed the play on the huge stereo system (his Christmas gift to himself the year before) and began to smile even wider when the sweet music of The Who blasted out through the speakers.

With long sweeping steps he danced his way back to the sink, moving to the beats of I Can’t Explain. He strummed the chords of the chorus on an air guitar, shouting out the lyrics merrily, happy that no-one could see him at the moment. Finally he turned his attention back to the dishes, still wriggling his hips along to the beat as he started to clean the last of them.

He was filled with a calming, wonderful feeling that had accompanied him since the morning’s unusual meeting. To be honest Greg was still more than baffled by the elder Holmes brother, his stomach rebelling against him with feelings that he hadn’t experienced for years each time he came to think about the mysterious man. Unfortunately this fuzzy feeling was followed by regret each time it occurred, he repented bitterly that he hadn’t made sure to get the government official’s number. But on the other hand maybe it was for the best to play it safe and don’t be too hasty.

These were the things that the detective inspector pondered upon as his mobile buzzed, signalling that he had received a text.

_I don’t know what you’re trying to obtain by ingratiating yourself with my brother, but I’m telling you to stop. He’s a very dangerous man. – SH  
_

Greg frowned at the surprising message, wondering what had made the consulting detective send it to him. After a few moments he realised that it was probably because his lack-of-case-abstinence had kicked in.

 

_I’m not trying to curry favour with your brother! I just offered him some coffee, which he clearly needed. – GL_

With a long sigh he turned back to the dishes, annoyed by Sherlock’s impertinency, but had barely started when his phone went off again.

 

_.. and which he very happily accepted. Since you clearly haven’t figured it out already: Mycroft doesn’t just stay for hot beverages in some random detective inspector’s office. He always has at least fifteen ulterior motives for everything he does. – SH_

Greg decided to ignore the younger Holmes brother’s gibe, and walked over to the stereo again to change the track. This time it took about five minutes before he received another text, which gave him enough time to finish the washing-up. He walked over to the sofa and sank down in it, turning on the TV only to listen to the news as he took a look at the message.

 

_Ignoring me only confirms my theory, detective inspector. – SH_

As the news presenter described the current situation in the Middle East Greg once again let out a tired breath. The arrogant consulting detective was now really starting to get on his nerves. Still he was stupid and bored enough to answer him.

 

_What theory may I ask, Sherlock? That I happen to be a genuinely nice and polite person who offers people coffee while they’re in my office? – GL_

The response came immediately.

 

_No, that you’re clearly attracted to my brother. – SH_

The policeman froze, once again astonished by the consulting detective’s powers of deduction. Still though, Greg was surprised that his affection towards the man’s brother had been that obvious. Greg decided not to dwell upon this more at the moment, and instead answered Sherlock before he got another point to prove his wicked theory.

_Oh, in the same way as you are attracted to a certain army doctor? – GL_

Greg smiled at his last response, beaming even more than Sherlock did when he had solved the case earlier. He pulled up his legs, lying down in the sofa as he started to zap between the different channels, content with his accurate response. After watching twenty minutes of a mediocre episode of Come Dine with Me Greg started to doze off blithely, thinking about a certain politician, more than assured of that said man’s brother wouldn’t disturb his sleep by answering his text.

* * *

The sun was shining down at St. James's Park the following day and Greg was sweating heavily as he ran through an alley of trees. There were families and couples spread around the lawns, enjoying the warm and very much longed for spring weather. Greg took out his MP3 player and somehow managed to start the playlist he used for such occasions as this.

_I need to exercise more; I'm getting completely out of shape._  

He felt as if his lungs were exploding - he hadn't had time lately to go for a run, and he was, as he bitterly thought to himself, actually getting older. If that wasn’t enough, the running shorts he was wearing were at least one size too small. Since he hadn’t been bothered to buy a new pair he was now forced to face the troublesome pains that the shorts were causing the lower parts of his body. Now after having run a few hundred yards he could feel the running shorts tightening around his legs, making it impossible to run comfortably without looking like a leaping rabbit on acid.

He had had a lot to do with work during the last few weeks, two serial killers since the middle of March and the reorganisation of the of the whole Yard's mobile phone system had kept him busy day and night. The tranquillity Greg had felt the day before after having caught the serial killer at King’s Cross had by now passed away, and he was now getting more and more worked up about everything that he was going to have to deal with the coming week.

Sherlock and Dr Watson had helped out (well, when you say helped…) with the murderers and solving the cases, but he still couldn't, after two weeks, figure out how to set the alarm on his new phone. And there was no way in hell he was asking Sgt Donovan, or someone else for that matter, how to do it since they all would just laugh at his complete lack of handiness. For a moment he had considered to ask Dr Watson, since he was a rather nice chap after all, but then he had changed his mind since he had figured that then Sherlock would find out one way or another. There weren't many things nowadays that Sherlock contributed to for the better, he established while running by some children who were playing football in the sunlight.

_Well, except of course introducing me, even though that probably isn't the right word for it, to his much more handsome older brother. Hopefully we will run into each other again soon. Shouldn’t be too unlikely, as Holmes said, considering Sherlock’s behaviour…_

Greg’s wish became true just a few seconds later he saw no-one less than Mycroft Holmes sitting on a bench in the shadow next to the lake on Greg’s right side. The government official was facing the other way and hadn’t noticed the policeman’s presence. Greg gladly noted that Holmes didn't look as stressed as he had done the last time they had met, he seemed to be reading some kind of book, and there was actually a quite peaceful, content expression on his face. The man had looked content in Greg’s office as well, but that had been more of a priggish and presumptuous expression; this seemed to be, at least to the detective inspector, a look of genuine relaxation on the politician’s face.

Greg couldn't help to notice the fact that he was wearing a gorgeous bright three piece suit in which he looked more than dashing. The breeze played with the curl of the front of his brown hair and Greg couldn't help to wonder what it would feel like if it wouldn't have been the wind, but his own fingers tangled in it.

_Gregory Conor Lestrade, stop fantasizing about Sherlock's handsome older brother! It doesn’t matter that he looks so fantastic, especially the skin on his neck that makes a subtle, but still very nice contrast to hi- oh no, still doing it._

He started to walk towards Mycroft with a steady pace; he didn't want to scare him by suddenly creeping up on him, but then he realised that there was probably no-one on this Earth that could surprise Mycroft from behind.  _Although, it would actually really nice to surprise Mycroft from behind_ Greg thought and smiled smugly, but stopped when he reached the older Holmes brother.

‘Enjoying the weather, Mr Holmes?’

Mycroft met Greg's gaze through the grey glasses and, as he had suspected, looked as if he had awaited his arrival for quite a long time. Surprisingly quick he moved one of his arms up to adjust his reading glasses, moving them back slightly on his elegant nose.

‘Yes, I dare say, the weather is rather pleasing. Would you care to accompany me? If you don’t mind, of course.’

‘No, of course I don’t.’ Greg sat down cheerfully on the slightly blushing Holmes's right side. To his discomfort his running shorts were tightening even more around his thighs as he did so, and he was almost sure that the other man was shooting his legs an interested look. He smirked. Then to his amazement he noted that the government official had brought his umbrella with him, and he couldn't help but to grin even wider.

‘Do you suspect that it'll start to rain soon?’

‘Of course not detective inspector, but it's an old habit of mine to always carry my umbrella with me whenever I go out for a walk.’ Mycroft crossed his legs and put the book to the left to him, and to Greg's further amazement he pulled out a little pouch from one of the pockets of his suit jacket. He opened the blue, which seemed to be made out of silk, ad started to throw out little breadcrumbs in front of himself and his new acquaintance, and before Greg had had the time to blink, the pigeons were attacking the scattered remnants of the bread.

‘Of all the things I could have imagined you doing,’ _and there are actually quite a lot of things I can imagine him doing, or things I can do to him…_  ‘feeding the pigeons actually wasn't one of them.’

Mycroft smiled, a little surprised by Greg's words, but still kept his content countenance. There were now a whole flock of pigeons surrounding them, but somehow, and luckily, they kept a safe distance from the two men on the bench.

‘Really? Do elaborate further on that...’ The left corner of the government official's mouth drew upwards in an almost sly grin.  _Those lips really are something._ Greg suddenly felt an urge to explore Mycroft's mouth, but after a few seconds he decided not to. At least not yet.

‘If your brother has informed me correctly you occupy a very important position in the government, and occasionally save our country from all kinds of catastrophes.’ Greg received an encouraging look, and for a moment he thought that he actually could hint some abashment in the way Mycroft made a small movement over his lips with his hand.

‘I just thought that since you probably spend most of your time with important politicians and different kinds of secret agencies, feeding the pigeons would be a quite boring activity for you.’

‘Well, you'd be surprised, detective inspector, to find how many of the people I have to work with everyday not really are much more exciting or of more interest than these pigeons. And when I actually don’t work, I find it rather relaxing to just sit and look at the birds fight over the food I throw at them, not very differently from the people I just mentioned.’

Greg leant towards Mycroft and felt an unusual feeling in his stomach arise as he stretched out his hands and grabbed some breadcrumbs from the pouch in Mycroft's lap.

‘So that's all you do in your spare time then, feed the pigeons?’

Mycroft's face suddenly became a bit more restraint, but then his expressions went back to the content smile, the sun reflecting in his glasses.

‘Well, I feed the pigeons, and sometimes I feed the sparrows too. It gives me a sense of enormous well-being.’

Greg threw the breadcrumbs on the ground, and since the pigeons ate them so fast he grabbed another handful from the pouch, which caused Mycroft to frown once again, very much to Greg's delight.

‘Well, except for that. Any kind of real social interaction?’ Greg meant this as a joke, but Mycroft suddenly became serious and looked him very honestly in the eyes.

‘No, not really. But if you would like to we could, ehm…’ Mycroft stopped to look for the right end of the sentence, and Greg couldn't help to think that the other man was really cute when he looked puzzled, one of his hands pressed to his temple and eyes closed.

‘… maybe try the benefits of human company?’

Greg began to roar with laughter, and couldn't help but to pat Mycroft on his knee lightly when he was met by an uncomprehending expression from the government official.

‘I actually already have human acquaintances!’ The policeman laughed, gasping for air. ‘No hold on, Mr Holmes!’ Greg stopped Mycroft as he was just about to stand up. ‘I meant that as a joke. I'd love to spend some more time with you.’

Mycroft sat down again, and then smiled at the detective inspector after he had reassembled himself.

‘How about dinner? Next week?’

Greg felt that tingling sensation in his stomach again as he answered.

‘That sounds lovely.’

The government official pulled out a business card from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and gave it to Greg.

‘Call me tomorrow so we can decide when I can pick you up.’

The sudden confidence in Mycroft's voice most likely had something to do with the fact that planning meetings was something the government official was more used to do rather than real social interaction, as Greg had decided to call it. The detective inspector smiled and gratefully accepted the card that was extended towards him.

‘Thank you. Now give me some more of those breadcrumbs!’


End file.
